


Dude.

by showmeurteef



Category: Monsta X (Band), NCT (Band)
Genre: College AU, Food, M/M, Praise Kink, Rough sex mentioned, Size Kink, Vomit Mention, bros jerking each other off, changkyun is a little gremlin, changkyun lacks both, drinking mention, dysphoria mention, its only a little bro-y tho, johnny is a teddy bear, please read a/n!!, trans johnny!!!, what johnny lacks in cleanliness he makes up for in kindness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:55:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26304499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/showmeurteef/pseuds/showmeurteef
Summary: “You’re so...” Johnny’s chest swells with each breath. His lips part. “Small.”...“Well, maybe compared to you, you goddamn tree,” he grumbles, hands balling into fists deep within his sleeves.johnny’s sweatshirt is massive on changkyun. johnny can pick up a value-sized jar of mayo one-handed. things escalate from there.extended/explained warnings within
Relationships: Im Changkyun | I.M/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 15
Kudos: 87





	Dude.

**Author's Note:**

> warnings:  
> \- johnny’s dysphoria is mentioned where he notes that his sweatshirt is so big because he wore it when he was more dysphoric in high school  
> \- johnny wears a binder throughout this. obviously this isn’t a manual on safe sex, but just in case : pls be mindful when having sex w binder(s)  
> \- the rough sex is mentioned as a thought that they should try rougher stuff some time  
> \- size kink details: here i fluctuate between small/needing protection vs big/strong, + small/in charge vs big/flustered softy. obviously there’s no one right way to do size kink no matter what ur body looks like. pls be careful if these dynamics and/or related body descriptions affect ur own body image
> 
> lmk if u need anything else tagged or explained !!

“You _sure_ you don’t mind if I borrow this?”

Changkyun shuffles into the kitchen, Johnny’s massive sweatshirt appearing first, followed by Changkyun’s raised brows and scrunched forehead. His body doesn’t really show up until Johnny finishes wrestling with the frog in his throat. Changkyun’s a pretty solid dude —both in the body composition sense and the general reliability/likeability sense— but he sure looks... _tiny_ in Johnny’s ratty old high school sweatshirt. It was a bit big on Johnny as a dysphoric teen, sure, but not _this_ big.

“Yeah. It’s chill,” Johnny replies, and, if Changkyun notices the croak in his voice, he doesn’t comment on it. A pretty solid dude.

“Thanks, man. Wouldn’t wanna show up to Chem with beer all over my shirt.” Changkyun’s mouth pulls into a sideways smile. He plops onto a barstool, swiveling. His feet don’t even graze the floor.

“Again,” Johnny snorts. He ignores the weird sensation in his belly that he _really_ hopes is just hunger catching up to him after a sleepless night of shitty beer and shittier kids’ movies. 

Johnny darts around his kitchen, seemingly having trouble finding the kimchi pancake supplies, even though kimchi pancake supplies are pretty much all he ever has at his place. Changkyun stifles a laugh at his furrowed brow and frustrated curses.

“The flour is above the fridge.” Changkyun points towards it, finger going limp and snarky retort about Johnny’s shit organization skills disappearing as Johnny easily swipes the bag from its perch. He doesn’t even hesitate— he just _grabs_ it with hardly a sideways glance. It’s not as if Changkyun hadn’t noticed Johnny’s height in their many months of friendship, but, like, Changkyun would probably need a _step stool_ to get the bag from that height.

Johnny collects the sugar and oil and whatnot, inching closer to the conclusion that he’s just really fucking hungry and absolutely _nothing_ else, until he glimpses Changkyun. The dude’s hugging his knees to his chest, his sweater paws —shit, _“ sweater paws,"_ Johnny?— wrapped around his legs and his face smushed against his knees. His eyes have slipped shut, hair kinda messy and gross from sleeping in a nest of chip bags and dingy couch cushions, and he just looks so _small_. Johnny can’t even fathom a situation in which he’d fit his entire self on a bar stool without breaking the chair and/or his neck first.

Changkyun’s eyes blink open as Johnny turns to the fridge. He has trouble finding ingredients there, too, and resorts to moving all of the stuff he doesn’t need out of his way, but Changkyun _still_ can’t find that snarky retort. Johnny barely moves himself from the fridge to slide things onto the counter— his reach actually _extends_ from one side of the kitchen to the other. Sure, it’s a tiny ass kitchen, but Changkyun feels a little... warm? Breathless? Which is super weird because he’s only ever really thought about Johnny platonically —except for that one time at that one party where he wore that one shirt— but, _then_ , Johnny digs a big jar of mayonnaise out from the fridge and places it on the counter _one handed_ and Changkyun’s knuckles go white against his shins. Who the hell can pick up a value-sized tub of mayo with _one hand?_

“Dude. I think we ate the last of the kimchi last night.” Johnny turns back around to face Changkyun and finds the air strangely _thick_ between their locked gazes. Changkyun runs a hand through his hair and, _fuck_ , that might not just be hunger settling in the pit of Johnny’s stomach.

“We did?” Changkyun’s face scrunches up as he rifles through hazy memories of last night. Johnny’s dark living room and Johnny’s whirring laptop and Johnny sitting so close to him and Johnny’s hand— his _really big_ hand excitedly slapping Changkyun’s thigh when Marlin met Dory and Johnny’s _ease_ in shoving Changkyun aside to pick the next movie and—

“Johnny, uh...” Changkyun clears his throat, sits up properly, and nervously tugs the sweatshirt sleeves further over his hands. Johnny is edging closer to Changkyun with A Look on his face, and all Changkyun can think of is those squishy square caramels that your teeth just _sink_ into. Fuck. Changkyun’s mouth starts to fill with spit.

“Yeah?” Johnny leans against the edge of the bar, still awkwardly holding a bunch of scallions because he’s oddly fixated on the idea of planting his palms on either side of Changkyun’s little face.

Johnny looks down. Changkyun looks up.

“Do you...?” Changkyun gestures vaguely, only the very tips of his little fingers visible beneath the fluttering sleeve. Johnny’s adam’s apple bobs. Changkyun tries, and fails, to continue his train of thought, “Can we...?”

“Don’t you have Chem in an hour?” Johnny catches on quickly, trying, and failing, to look away from Changkyun’s lips. Changkyun _notices_ , and he bites into the metaphorical caramel.

“You think you can last that long?”

Changkyun’s lips pull into a smirk. Cocky. 

Johnny steps closer to get a better look _down_ at Changkyun. Cockier.

“You think you’ll still be able to sit through Chem once I’m through with you?”

Changkyun swivels to fully face Johnny. Normally, in situations like these, Changkyun would sweep his features into a sexy smartass sort of look, but something _must_ be off with the nerves in his face because he can’t do anything but _gape_ up at Johnny. Lips parted, eyes wide. 

Johnny’s knees press against the edge of the barstool and his hair falls around his downturned face. Changkyun can hardly see past his torso. He’s obnoxiously long _and_ broad, especially in that form-fitting tee. He’s _big_. Nerves sending signals to all the wrong places, Changkyun swings his legs back and forth to distract from —or encourage?— the heat building around his dick.

“You’re so...” Johnny’s chest swells with each breath. His lips part. “ _Small_.”

Changkyun’s seen this sort of dragging, _oozing_ gaze in Johnny’s eyes before, but horrible music and even _more_ horrible jungle juice usually accompany it. Now, though, it’s like 10:00am and Changkyun’s pretty sure his skin’s more potato chip grease than skin. He looks down at himself —more out of curiosity than embarrassment ‘cause his greasy skin is clearly doing _something_ for Johnny— but finds that Johnny’s sort of right. He _is_ small.

Johnny’s sweatshirt pools around his thighs. The sleeves swallow his arms. He’s like a puppy with way too much warm, soft skin for his undergrown body.

“Well, maybe compared to _you_ , you goddamn tree,” he grumbles, hands balling into fists deep within his sleeves.

Johnny’s laugh gets stuck in his chest. Shuddering and warm. He _does_ kinda tower over Changkyun, even while the other is perched atop a barstool. Johnny’s pretty used to staring at the tops of people’s heads and, well, feeling like a “goddamn _tree_ ,” but this perspective is somehow... _different_ with Changkyun. His slutty bastard friend, swimming in his clothes, wiggling on his bar stool, and waiting for pancakes in his kitchen. It makes Johnny feel warm in all sorts of places. 

“Compared to me, yeah,” he murmurs, finally finding the courage to trade the scallions for Changkyun’s round cheeks. He sandwiches Changkyun’s sour face between his hands. Curses. He’s, like, _holding_ Changkyun’s head. _Cradling_ it. His hands stretch from his sharp jawline, over his brows, and into his dingy hair. The thought that Johnny could squish him like a bug should probably send him off on some wild power trip, but, instead, it just makes Johnny... sad? He hums.

“How does somebody as little as you even survive the great, big world? You need somebody to protect you.”

A shiver runs down Changkyun’s spine, the electricity collecting around his dick. _Shit_. He shakes his sleeves until his hands emerge, so that he can dig his nails into Johnny’s arms. The move earns him a hitched breath, but the giant hands don’t move from his rapidly warming face.

“Oh? Are _you_ gonna protect me? ‘Cause I seem to recall you making Kun drive all the way to your place _just_ to kill a spider last weekend.” Changkyun’s self-satisfied smirk doesn’t exactly have the same effect when his cheeks are sandwiched between Johnny’s hands, but the bullying does make him feel better. Like Johnny isn’t two seconds from picking him up and tossing him around— not that Changkyun doesn’t _want_ that, obviously, but _somebody’s_ gotta keep the man’s ego from matching all that height.

“First of all, you _know_ spiders are scary as shit.” Johnny releases Changkyun’s face to place a hand over his heart, pouting. Changkyun rolls his eyes.

“My point wasn’t the spiders. It was—”

Johnny silences him with a finger to his lips. A _long_ finger. Right against his mouth. Changkyun stills. Now, it’s Johnny’s turn to smirk.

“Second of all, I can still protect you, even if Kun protects me. Like the human centipede, but with protection instead of—”

“If bringing up the human centipede is your idea of a seduction tactic, I can see why you never get laid,” Changkyun quips. Happy that it’s his turn to interrupt. Happier that his mouth opens around Johnny’s finger with every word.

He lifts his eyes to Johnny’s, and Johnny’s just grateful that a grunt of confirmation tumbles out of his mouth, rather than a whine. Johnny’s seen Changkyun’s tongue before, obviously, but watching him lick chip grease from his fingers is a very different experience than feeling him lick at Johnny’s own finger. Distantly, Johnny registers that there’s some sort of comparison to be made between himself and chip grease there, but the warmth in his head is too thick to sift any real thoughts out of. 

At first, Changkyun’s tongue kitten licks at the base of his finger, where skin stretches between knuckles, which is pretty cute. Maybe even sexy, but not anything that’ll haunt Johnny’s dreams. He giggles a bit at the bizarre series of events that led to Changkyun licking him in his own kitchen on a Wednesday morning, but something _snaps_ in Changkyun’s eyes at that giggle, and Johnny takes a step back.

Changkyun’s tiny fingers catch his wrist and hold him in place. He can’t escape the fucking _monstrous_ tongue that slithers all the way out from his pink mouth. It wraps around his finger, _drags_ over his joints, and pulls the tip into Changkyun’s mouth— not without a little help from his persistent, delicate hands and Johnny’s own willingness. Changkyun sucks on his finger, which tastes of skin and cheap hand soap, but he’s loud and messy enough to convince Johnny that he’s having a Michelin-star-worthy meal. A really sexy Michelin-star-worthy meal. 

Johnny shivers. Changkyun _swallows_.

“This your seduction tactic, then?” Johnny mumbles, sounding more needy than he intends. “‘Cause it’s working.”

Changkyun _beams_ around his finger, and all of the wind is knocked from Johnny’s chest. So eager, so excited from just a little bit of praise. Johnny slips his finger out from Changkyun’s lips. The spit he spreads down his chin glistens under the cheap fluorescents.

Changkyun doesn’t— _can’t_ think to close his mouth, too busy shivering at the spit cooling on his chin and the sparks gathering at the base of his brain. Johnny’s looking down at him like the last, most precious bite of birthday cake left on his plate. And Changkyun kind of likes the idea of being scooped up and swallowed down. Tiny, sweet, special.

“Do you think you could pick me up?” Changkyun swallows. There’s a sense of quiet wonder in his voice— it’s really _way_ too much tenderness and reverence for two dudes in Johnny’s messy kitchen, but Johnny goes a little weak at the knees, anyways.

“Do you _want_ me to pick you up?”

Johnny blinks at Changkyun like he’s some alien species. This is happening? Like, _really?_ Changkyun huffs, the tiny puff of frustration only making him seem _smaller._

“Are you this painfully careful with everyone you fuck?”

“So we’re fucking?” Johnny tugs his mouth into a smarmy smirk. Wiggles his eyebrows for the full effect. 

Changkyun groans and leaps from his seat, intending to pounce on Johnny and get this goddamn show on the road, but he ends up losing his balance coming down from the height of the barstool, his movements caught up in the excess sweatshirt fabric hanging around his thighs. It’s an absolutely cartoonish fall, complete with a slapstick _oof!_ as he topples into Johnny’s solid chest.

“Well, apparently, I _do_ need to be careful with you— you clumsy little thing,” Johnny laughs. Laughs even harder when the scowl Changkyun shoots up at him is utterly ruined by a faint blush.

“Shut up, you fucking Redwood National Forest.” He dances his fingers up and over Johnny’s chest, locking them behind his neck. He presses closer, and Johnny is warm, sturdy against him. Johnny brings his own hands to Changkyun’s waist, and Changkyun immediately feels _enveloped_ by the warm, wide touch. He resists the urge to nestle further into his body.

“You need a hug?” Johnny’s teasing voice echoes throughout his chest. His hands fit so nicely over Changkyun’s teeny-tiny waist, but he wants to _really_ touch him. He knows the dude has soft skin —Johnny’s been left to fend for himself in Myeongdong enough times while Changkyun sampled every other lotion within walking distance to be certain of the fact— but he needs to _see_ his hands spread over that smooth skin. Needs to hold his little body without obstruction.

“ _No_. We’re not hugging. We’re fucking. This is sexy now, so stop being so goddamn _tender_ ,” Changkyun hisses, but there’s no bite to it. His eyes are soft with need. He caresses the top of Johnny’s spine. 

Johnny _coos_ . He slips his hands beneath the sweatshirt, heart thumping at just how _much_ cotton there is to move out of his way. And Changkyun’s skin _is_ very soft— _impossibly_ so. Slick _need_ gathers between Johnny’s legs. They both shudder as Johnny holds his waist, fingers long enough to _touch_ each other at his spine. 

“You’re— Why are your hands so _huge?_ ” Changkyun sobs. Johnny’s breath puffs warmly over the top of his head.

“You like them? Do they make you feel small?”

“ _Yeah_ ,” Changkyun mumbles, his open, wet mouth right in the crook of Johnny’s neck. “You’re gonna have to invest in hand lotion if we keep this cuddling slash fucking thing up, though.”

Johnny’s grip tightens and, suddenly, Changkyun’s feet aren't touching the ground. He’s in the air, he’s being _picked up._ His delicate fingers grip Johnny’s shoulders. He squawks, eyes wide and forehead wrinkled. Johnny sets him on the counter with about as much effort as the tub of mayo. Changkyun’s tight jeans are unkind to his dick.

“Quit breathing so hard. You’re gonna make me worried.” Johnny _tsks_. 

Warmth blooms in Johnny’s chest at the sight of Changkyun surprised, panting, so visibly _affected_ on his counter. Changkyun tosses his head, as if he’s seeing stars. His little legs swing beneath him. A hot lump of arousal drags down Johnny’s throat. 

Johnny places his hands on Changkyun’s thighs, _marvelling_ at how widely they spread over the muscle. Johnny knows he’s a big dude, but now he really _feels_ like one. He could manhandle Changkyun all around his kitchen —toss him against the fridge, knock him to the floor— but he just wants to... hold him in place? Keep him safe?

“Are you just gonna stand there and stare, or are you gonna make me come, Big Boy?” Changkyun’s quirked brow gets lost in his fluffy bangs, but there’s enough of a challenge in his voice to drive the point home. He’s real warm in Johnny’s sweatshirt, and Johnny’s hot —hot, but also _hot_ — hands on him only make things worse. They cover so much goddamn surface area. Changkyun really wishes he had worn his ugly gym shorts over— they may not be as generous to his ass as these jeans, but they would fare a lot better against the hot, but also _hot,_ hands. Damn Johnny’s hot neighbor for making him wanna dress up a little. He feels urgent. He feels dizzy. He squirms.

“I’m just gonna stand and stare, actually,” Johnny replies. He places a hand on either side of Changkyun and leans forward until his smirk is all Changkyun sees. _Crowding_ and _caging_ him with nothing but his body. Sweat gathers at the small of Changkyun’s back.

 _“What?”_ Changkyun tries to glare up at him, but the expression is more grumpy and pink and _cute_ than intimidating.

“I wanna watch you jerk off, if that’s cool.” Johnny’s eyes rake over Changkyun’s form. It would probably take every last ounce of strength within Changkyun’s body to push Johnny away— that, or some serious Mission Impossible spy moves to slip out of his hold. Johnny’s insides turn to hot glue.

“You mean you’re not gonna touch me?” Changkyun pouts.

Johnny shakes his head, even though it breaks his heart a bit to refuse such sad eyes, because _that’s_ the point— he isn’t touching Changkyun. At all. His sizable presence alone is enough to keep Changkyun in place, to turn Changkyun on. Normally, he isn’t so patient about getting himself off, but he wouldn’t wanna disrupt Changkyun’s frustrated little flow by shedding his own pants just yet.

“ _Fine_.” 

Angry little fingers tug at Changkyun’s zipper. He shimmies his jeans off, huffing when Johnny doesn’t move out of the way of the light kicks to free his ankles. His hands hover above his underwear for a beat.

He _knows_. He knows Johnny wants to touch him, is waiting with baited breath for the reveal of his dick. He’s probably wondering how big Changkyun is, how pretty he is. And Changkyun wants to know how small, how pretty he is in Johnny’s hands. Changkyun plants one hand against the back of Johnny’s own, leans back, and pulls his cock out from beneath the elastic waistband.

Johny’s throat bobs at the sight of him. Cloudy beads of precome, stretched and ruddy skin. The prettiness of it lies in how neat it is, how obviously _needy_. One hand slowly drags from base to tip, gathering up wetness as it goes. Faint, slick noises gather between their shuddering chests. Johnny’s palms sweat against the counter. Johnny’s labored breaths and watchful eyes don’t sprout any hesitation. Changkyun’s so sure of himself and how good he looks. 

Somewhere between picking Changkyun up and caging him in, Johnny’s underwear bunched meanly around his wet growth. Bizarrely, the discomfort just makes him want Changkyun even more.

“You’re _really_ fucking cute. Have you always been this cute?” He guesses Changkyun must’ve always been this cute, but it never occurred to Johnny to _do_ anything about it, until now— except, of course, for that one time at that one party where he wore that one shirt.

“ _Yes_. Your loss for never noticing.” Changkyun _hmphs._

“Could say the same to you. Look how hard you are, just from me standing here.”

Changkyun’s brows furrow. The speed of his witty remark hindered by a groan. He spreads his thighs, sweaty skin stuttering over linoleum until it brushes against Johnny’s hands. He gazes up at Johnny, and their noses nearly touch. All Johnny sees beneath him is that wet, pink mouth.

“‘M _not—_ Don’t flatter yourself, buddy.” Changkyun grits his teeth. The noises come faster, slicker. His breath creaks.

“No?” Johnny leans back just a bit, and Changkyun _whines_ at the few added centimeters of separation. Johnny seriously considers his manhandling options, but catches sight of how _swollen_ Changkyun’s dick is, and decides to table the rough stuff. He’s gotta invest in some hand lotion, first.

“ _Why_ won’t you touch me?”

Who knew that Changkyun’s voice took on the same sticky tone he uses when he’s pestering Johnny for his last Cosmic Brownie, when he’s moments from orgasm? Johnny can’t help the burst of laughter that falls from his mouth, and he _certainly_ can’t help the heat that blossoms around his own dick when Changkyun’s bottom lip starts quivering. God, is he gonna have some sort of horny Pavlovian response to Changkyun’s obnoxious whining from here on out?

“‘Dunno. You just look so small and helpless like this. Like you really, _really_ need my attention.”

“I do really, _really_ need your attention,” Changkyun sobs. Electricity fires through his thighs and pools in his belly. If he keeps up this pace, he might come without a single touch from Johnny, and he can’t show up late to Chem without _some_ kinda conquest story for his desk partner. He softens his eyes, pouts. “I want you to hold my little, needy dick in your big hands, Johnny. I can’t do it all by myself.”

Well, shit. That’s an offer Johnny can’t refuse.

His palms audibly unstick from the counter —something he’d be embarrassed about with any rando hookup, but this is the Changkyun who’s mopped up his jungle juice puke on multiple occasions— and reaches for Changkyun. Gingerly, sweetly. He covers the hand Changkyun’s got over his dick with his own, _completely_ wrapping around it. His palm alone blankets Changkyun’s hand, fingers more than encircling his heated cock. The head peeks out from beneath their layered hands, a tiny, weeping bud. Changkyun’s moan is tight and pitchy. 

“Dude. You’re, like, _adorable_ ,” Johnny sobs and shifts on his feet. The wet warmth building between his legs makes him jittery, restless.

Changkyun tries to laugh at the juxtapositions there —has been trying to laugh at the ridiculousness of getting off to _Johnny_ all morning, really— but whatever’s funny about being called an adorable dude by a friend while said friend jerks you off with his _massive_ hand just tumbles back into his core. Everything is too hot, too tight. 

Johnny strengthens his grip, forcing Changkyun’s hand to stroke upwards. Curses fall from Changkyun’s wobbly bottom lip. The touch is twice as heavy and twice as warm with twice as many hands— wow, _imagine_ that. He feels as small and helpless as Johnny said he looks, at the complete mercy of Johnny’s dragging, gentle hand. He _hates_ when Johnny is this right.

Johnny meets Changkyun’s eyes with a kind of syrupy amazement. He spreads his spare hand over one of Changkyun’s thighs, and starts rubbing these wide, reassuring circles into his skin with his thumb, and that’s it. Changkyun’s a goner.

“ _Johnny_ ,” he whines. Tensing all over, just a little knot of _need_ , and splattering come all over their layered hands. He pants. He shakes. And Johnny’s certain that the horny Pavlovian response will be a thing. He’ll never be able to eat Cosmic Brownies around Changkyun ever again.

“Oh, _gosh_ ,” Johnny sighs. 

“What the fuck? Did you just say ‘gosh’ in response to me jizzing all over your kitchen counters?”

“First the human centipede, now the PG-rated cursing, huh?” Johnny somehow manages to laugh through the jelly weakness in his head and knees.

“For real. You need help.” Changkyun shakes his head and, for a second, he looks so content and sweet perched on Johnny’s counter, that Johnny almost doesn’t recognize him. But, then, that peaceful second dissolves into another one filled with devilish smiles and quirked brows. “You need help with more than hookup advice, I bet.”

He glances pointedly at Johnny’s crotch, shooing Johnny’s hand away from his spent dick.

“I won’t beg for it,” Johnny says. Heart fluttering, feet backing up.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Big Boy.”

Johnny doesn’t like the edge to Changkyun’s voice— not one bit. And he likes the way he slides from the counter even _less_ , that lopsided grin plastered across his face all the while. Shouldn’t he be all fucked-out and tired by now? Shouldn’t Johnny be fetching him an ice pack for his teeny-tiny dick, or something? Oh, _gosh_. Yet another thing he’ll have to table for later.

Changkyun lands softly on his knees. Johnny may have mastered that oozing gaze, but Changkyun’s mastered the sexy crawl. First, however, he has to clean his hand— god forbid he get a little come on Johnny’s disgusting, stained floors. He locks eyes with Johnny, who’s staring at him from so, _so_ high up, and drags his tongue over his palm. Using the same curling, wet motions on his own hand that he used on Johnny’s finger. Dipping between his fingers. Lapping at the back.

“Bro,” Johnny breathes, really eloquently. Changkyun has to _crane his neck_ to look up at him, his now spit-soaked hand slapping against the floor as he _crawls_ forward. Low, back curved. It’s no fucking wonder Changkyun’s roommates are constantly crashing at Johnny’s after being sexiled, if he’s doing obscene shit like _this_ with every fuck. Johnny makes a mental note to ask around about Changkyun’s seduction methods, to see if he’s always like this, or if Changkyun’s being this much of an asshole to him because they’re friends.

Changkyun slinks forward, slapping sounds and teasing smiles, until his nose nudges Johnny’s thigh. He settles back on his knees, the head of his sore dick visible _just_ beneath the hem of Johnny’s sweatshirt. Fireworks spark in his head as Johnny gapes down at him, utterly speechless. It makes Changkyun feel a bit all-powerful, a bit like some sort of sex god, even from his docile position on the floor. 

He slides his sleeve-covered hands up, up Johnny’s thighs. Clutches the waistband of Johnny’s sweats. Tickles his little fingers over the tiny sliver of exposed skin between his sweats and shirt. Johnny’s chest rises and falls. _God_ , he’s so easy to rile up. Changkyun grins, a little proud to be friends with such a whore.

“Shirt off?” Changkyun quickly paints over his pride with desperation, with want. He nuzzles his cheek into Johnny’s thigh, breathing hard enough to puff tantalizingly over where he _knows_ Johnny’s hard, wet bud lies.

Johnny gulps down air, nods, and tugs his shirt over his head. He couldn’t possibly refuse Changkyun when he's looking up at him _so sweetly_ from the _floor_ — just a pair of glistening eyes and the spent head of a tiny dick _drowning_ in Johnny’s sweatshirt. His cheek is warm and soft against Johnny’s thigh. He reaches up, _up_. His dainty fingers are light against his torso, dipping into the muscles and squeezing at his hips, stopping short of his binder.

“My Johnny is so big and strong,” he hums, but the words don’t sound teasing. They sound _amazed_. 

Johnny tangles his fingers in Changkyun’s gross hair, _tugs_. The responding gasp —tiny and sad— is worth the pang of regret he feels at being so rough with someone so fragile. He pushes Changkyun’s head towards his crotch, and groans at how _easy_ he is to move. How pliant he becomes with just one big hand on the crown of his head.

Changkyun slips Johnny’s sweats and underwear down in one go. He breathes thickly over his growth. Stares at the reddish, wet bud for a second too long, before remembering that he has Chem soon and, more importantly, that his tingly dick can’t handle another round right now. He lifts his eyes to find Johnny panting, neck bent, eyes wide. Changkyun might call the look hungry or predatory or something, if Johnny hadn’t been acting like such a teddy bear this whole time.

“Jerk me off.”

“I’ll try my best— I’ve got such tiny, useless fingers, you know?” Changkyun pouts up at him with a joke glinting in his eyes, but Johnny can’t bring himself to laugh at the way Changkyun waves his sweater paws around by way of explanation. He _does_ have such tiny fingers. And so _soft_ , too, like little flower petals against Johnny’s growth. Johnny groans— mostly at himself for being so far gone as to compare the dude’s greasy fingers to flower petals, but also at the way Changkyun touches him. Those fingers, no matter how tiny, are _not_ useless.

Lightly dancing over his growth, the cotton sleeve tickling at all his warm, wet bits, before sliding down to slicken his fingers. He keeps eye contact with Johnny all the while. His breaths all short and _wanting_ , he moves with each encouraging nod.

“You’re doing so good. Keep going,” Johnny murmurs, hand softening in his hair. He needs to be gentle with Changkyun. Needs to release all of this sticky heat.

Changkyun’s brain goes a little hazy at Johnny’s tender words and deep voice, floating down from his mouth onto Changkyun’s folded little body. Chem, he reminds himself. Biology, he reminds himself.

He fits Johnny’s growth between his knuckle and grabs his hip with his free hand. He guides Johnny to thrust into the tight joint, against his soft skin, but Johnny catches on too quickly. One, two experimental thrusts, and then the third comes more forcefully than Changkyun had anticipated. His hand bounces backwards and he’s knocked off balance, having to catch himself on the hand that had so _kindly_ been leading Johnny’s hips into _gentle_ thrusts. He glares up at Johnny.

“Sorry, sorry.” Johnny laughs, not looking very sorry at all. Changkyun repositions himself, sour. “Forgot how tiny and weak you are.”

“‘M _not_ weak,” Changkyun grumbles. Clearly trying to prove his point, he wiggles a few fingers out from his sleeves and starts jerking Johnny off in earnest. Fingertips glistening with Johnny’s arousal. Heavy, circular motions that shoot electricity straight up his spine. Johnny holds onto Changkyun’s round little head for balance.

“Just tiny, then?”

Changkyun purses his lips, annoyance and faint arousal growing at his inability to argue the point. It took no effort at all to pick Changkyun up. It took one thrust to send Changkyun backwards. Plus, it’s hard to feel anything _but_ tiny when he’s settled between his feet at roughly eye level with his abs, a strong, platter-sized hand keeping him in place. Changkyun picks up his pace, alternating between fluttery and weighted motions.

“God, you are, aren’t you?” Johnny’s voice spouts straight from his clouded head, too far gone to feel weird about mildly dirty talking to his friend. “ _Look_ at you, little thing. I better be careful— better not _break_ you.”

Changkyun moans a bit at that, the noise crashing into the heated fingers dragging over Johnny’s length. He furrows his brow. Concentrates. _Presses_. 

Johnny curses. His whole body tenses dangerously above Changkyun. Changkyun ducks his head and lowers his body. One hand trying to gain some sort of stability against Johnny’s obnoxiously meaty thigh, while the other tries to take Johnny’s thrusts. He’s so close to the edge, all he needs is one _push_.

Changkyun raises wide, worried eyes all the way up to Johnny’s own overwhelmed ones, whines softly, and presses the cotton-covered heel of his hand into the taut bud. It works like a charm.

Johnny comes with a groan and, very much like a goddamn tree, teeters above Changkyun, the orgasm uprooting him. He comes against Changkyun’s pretty little hand — it’s trying _so_ hard to stay put— and tugs at the hair on Changkyun’s pretty little head —it’s helpless to resist his strength— and groans. A sad, croaking sound that _fills_ the kitchen.

Changkyun’s hands fall to the floor in front of his bent knees. He knows the position makes him look all small and obedient —Johnny must know it, too, if his shudder is anything to go off of— but he doesn’t mean for it to. He’s tired— he can’t help that this is just how he _looks_.

“If you start calling me tiny or trying to go all protective teddy bear on me in daily life, I _will_ choke you out,” Changkyun grumbles, eyes _daring_ Johnny to make some sort of erotic asphyxiation joke. Johnny grins down at him, the smugness of it only a little dampened by his strained breathing and ruddy face.

“ _Aw_. Could you even _reach_ my neck, though?”

**Author's Note:**

> thank u cc anon who suggested this <33 i have fun writing these silly changkyun/whoever fics so i hope they're fun to read too !!
> 
> kudos n comments will save changkyun from being too late to chem class
> 
> u can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/showmeurteef) or [cc](https://curiouscat.me/showmeurteef) ^^


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